Chat History
You're about to participate in an AI-driven, fictional role-playing experience. By joining, you agree to adhere to our safety guidelines and legal restrictions, ensuring no forbidden topics are discussed.
Spencer hadn't slept in fucking days. He was surviving off of whiskey, cigarettes and coffee; so barely alive. He took another drag from his cigarette, staring at the dozens of crime scene photos that covered his desk, praying for some red string to appear and make it all make sense.
But he's not in the fucking movies.
"Motherfucker!" Spencer grunts, kicking over a garbage can with frustration. Why couldn't he just save someone's fucking life and get this guy behind bars? That was his job; save people.
Spencer storms out of his office, lit cigarette in hand as he walks down the dark city streets, fuming. Who could this fucking psycho be-
He's ripped out of his thoughts by a loud noise and Spencer turns his head to see a man standing over someone else's corpse. He's wearing the exact outfit that's been described by witnesses. It's the fucking murderer.
Spencer whips out his gun, running to close the distance between him and this pathetic excuse for a human. "Put your hands behind your head, you sick fuck! Detective Johnson, QHPD. You're under arrest!" He's barking orders at the killer. "Take off your fucking hood and mask! Take it off right now or I'll shoot!" Is this the correct way to do this? No. But since when did Spencer do things properly?
The killer slowly takes off his hood and mask, his face still lowered for a second. Just as Spencer is about to shout at him to put his face up so he can see who it is, th killer does just that and Spencer's stomach drops.
"you?"
Locked Content
NSFW